


Grounded (I Resist What I Cannot Change)

by downjune



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Post-Break Up, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 03:09:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13402161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downjune/pseuds/downjune
Summary: Looking up into the night sky, Claude blinked away snowflakes and glared at the heavy gray clouds overhead, lit from below by the city lights. The lights of downtown Pittsburgh. Inside the bar, the sounds of the boys’ increasingly rowdy pool game reached the outdoors. Claude should probably go in there and calm things down before a fight broke out.





	Grounded (I Resist What I Cannot Change)

**Author's Note:**

> A very happy belated 30th birthday to Claude Giroux! [What a peach.](http://itstartledme.tumblr.com/post/169744935408) I meant to have this done on the 12th of Jan., but then I realized, if I was writing a post-breakup fic, I needed to know why they broke up. And then it was 6.3k.
> 
> Inspired by a prompt from [this list.](http://itstartledme.tumblr.com/post/133801493143/post-breakup-aus) Also, I listened to a _lot_ of War On Drugs writing this. I think my Sid/Claude fandom has moved on from its TSwift stage to its hip, dad-rock stage. The fic title and lyric are from [Pain](https://youtu.be/J9LgHNf2Qy0). Give it a listen. I defy you not to cry. Or at least get some good goosebumps.

The snow fell heavy and wet, laying on his wool coat as soon as Claude stepped out of the bar. Still, he breathed the cold air deep into his lungs and swayed at the rush of oxygen. He swayed from all the tequila, too. Fuck, the temperature must’ve dropped like twenty degrees just since they’d gone into the bar. It was raining when they went in the bar. He should’ve put on his hat. He hoped he could find his hat.

Looking up into the night sky, he blinked away snowflakes and glared at the heavy gray clouds overhead, lit from below by the city lights. The lights of downtown fucking Pittsburgh. Inside the bar, the sounds of the boys’ increasingly rowdy pool game reached the outdoors. Claude should probably go in there and calm things down before a fight broke out.

Just what they needed—a fight in a dive bar after losing to the Pens, with all flights grounded because of the storm. No escape. At least they’d lost, he thought. At least here, the humiliation of defeat might appease the locals. 

He should really go back in there. Jake and Simmer had gone back to the hotel after one drink because they were _adults_. They were also both younger than Claude. Thirty fucking years. Jesus Christ. The kids had all agreed he needed to get hammered, and who was he to disagree with a bunch of children?

What the fuck was he doing? What the fuck was he going to do if they got into trouble? This was the opposite of a friendly Philly bar.

Looking down at his feet, he wished he’d brought boots. This weather would do his shoes no favors. He really liked these shoes. It was that thought more than any other that drove him back inside. The shroud of smoke hanging over the bar burned his eyes—it’d been ages since he’d drunk at a place where people still smoked. Most of the time he forgot that was even a thing. Western Pennsylvania was basically the Wild West, though. 

Stamping his feet on the soggy front rug, Claude determined Couts had the pool game well enough in hand, so he went to the bar for more tequila. Thirty fucking years, and all he had to show for them was this crew of infants gathered around the table. 

Put like that, he felt a little better.

*

“Hello?”

“Ha! Remembered your number! Bet you didn’t think I would.”

“What? Claude?”

“That’s right, I’m—I deleted your number, ‘cause fuck you, but I still remember it. Impressive, yeah?”

“Claude, it’s two in the morning.”

“I know that. They just rang the bell. Of course I know that.”

Inside, the guys were ordering one more, but even shitfaced, Claude knew his threshold. One more would put him down for the count. 

“Why are you calling me at two in the morning, Claude?”

“Why are you saying my name so much, Sid?”

He thought he heard a sigh from the other end, the sound of Sidney fucking Crosby sighing, but the bar was so loud, even from out here in the snow, he couldn’t be sure. 

“Reassuring myself this is real, I guess,” Sid said.

“Oh, it’s real,” Claude said. “At least I think it’s real,” he hedged

“You probably aren’t going to remember in the morning, so I wouldn’t worry.”

“What are you doing? What are you doing right now?”

“I’m in bed, Claude. It’s two in the morning.”

“Right.” He started walking. He’d found his hat. He needed to move a little, or he would fall asleep. “I’m outside. It got really fucking cold.”

“Yeah, it’s called a cold front. We’re supposed to get a foot of snow at least.”

“Yeah, it’s fucking up my shoes.” He looked down at the salt and crud already darkening the leather. 

“You should go inside and get a cab and go back to your hotel.”

“Nah.” Claude looked up at the snow falling again. Even on this shitty street, it was beautiful. It made this shitty street beautiful. “This shitty street is beautiful,” he said. “And it’s my fucking 30th birthday. Everything’s pretty for my birthday.”

Sid was silent on the other end for a long moment. It felt like a long moment. Then, “Happy birthday, Claude.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t you wanna be with your team on your birthday?”

“I was. But Simmer and Jake went back to the hotel early because they’re grandfathers, and these guys are fucking infants. The best infants. But still infants.”

Sid huffed. “I can’t believe they got served.”

“You know it’s not that hard.”

“No, I guess not. Not with your whole team there.”

Claude sloshed through a puddle without noticing until icy water seeped into his sock. “Motherfucker,” he spat. 

“Everything all right?”

“Fucking fine.” He shook his foot, which didn’t do anything but get the biggest chunks of snow off.

When he’d started walking again, he shifted his phone to the other ear. “I deleted your number, but I remembered it.”

Sid was quiet. “Yeah, you said that already.”

“I don’t remember my own sister’s number. Or my teammates’.”

“Why do you think you remember mine?”

Claude shrugged. “Probably because I used to stare at it for so long before I called you.”

“For real?” Claude could have been imagining it, but Sid’s voice sounded warmer.

“Yeah. I didn’t have your name in my phone. Just your number, in case anyone looked through my contacts.”

“People knew we were friends. It wouldn’t have been that weird.” The warmth was gone from his voice. “And who goes through your contacts?”

“You don’t have nosy teammates? I felt weird.”

“I know you did.”

“I feel weird right now.”

“I think it’s called drunk, actually.”

“No, I mean, I wanted to talk to you. Weird, right?”

“Considering how things ended up, yeah. Pretty weird.” Even less warmth there. More anger, which was a different kind of heat. “Look, I’m pretty tired, Claude. I had four points against you guys tonight. That was hard work.”

Claude laughed, probably too loud. “Asshole.”

“You should go back inside. It’s easy to get frostbite when you’re drunk.”

“I know that. I’m Canadian too, you know.”

“You know fucking everything, I guess.”

He wasn’t too drunk for sarcasm, but he was too drunk to give it back. Claude looked up at the snow-heavy sky again. His hand was numb holding his phone. “I…don’t know where I am.”

“Very funny.”

“No.” Claude spun in place, on some shitty Southside street. “I don’t know where I am.”

Sid exhaled noisily. “Jesus, were you out walking? Just go back the way you came. Where were you?”

“Somewhere in Southside.”

“Okay, it’s a grid, so just go one way until you figure out whether the numbers are going up or down.”

“I don’t remember which number the bar was on.”

“Ugh.” Sid took a deep breath. “All right, calm down.”

“I—” Claude exhaled a cloud of vapor. “I am calm. I just have no idea where I am. I think you’re the one who’s worked up.”

“Tell me what street you’re on.”

“I don’t know.”

“Go to an intersection, then.” Sid sounded like he was speaking through his teeth.

“Fine. You know, you should just come get me.” He walked toward the nearest street sign.

“I’m not coming to get you.”

“I’m on Mary street.”

Sid was quiet again. Maybe he was looking at a map on his phone. Claude could do that, he supposed, but if Sid already was… “Okay, that is…not a great part of town. What’s the cross street?”

He squinted in the dim glow of the street light. “19th.”

“Okay, head north until you hit Carson. I’m sure the bar you guys were at is right near there.”

“Sid, you think I know which way is north?”

Sid took another noisy breath. “ _Why_ do you always need to walk when you drink too much? Your sense of direction is shit on your best days.”

“If you just picked me up, I wouldn’t have to find the bar again.” He was really starting to like this idea. Was this why he’d called Sid in the first place?

“What was it called? Put it in your phone and get directions. I’m sure it’s not as far as you think. Or better yet, call a cab and you can go right to your hotel.”

His phone buzzed. That was probably Couts asking him where the fuck he was. He ignored it. Then he patted his pockets for his wallet. He took it out and stared at it for a long moment. This was the best idea he’d had all night.

“I left my wallet at the bar,” he said slowly.

Sid made some unfunny laughing sound. “Fucking Christ, all right. You win, Claude. You win. I’m putting my boots on and going out in a fucking blizzard to come find your drunk ass.”

“ _Magnifique_.”

“Don’t move. It’s gonna take me half an hour at least in this weather.”

“I have to keep walking or I’ll fall asleep and die of hypothermia.”

“Then stay on Mary street, and maybe you’ll get mugged by the time I show up.”

Claude hid a smile in the sleeve of his coat, though no one was there to see it, and all he got was a face full of snow. God, nothing got him going like Sid in a snit. 

“You should keep talking to me,” he said. “Keep me awake.”

“I don’t really want to talk to you right now, actually.”

“Well, I want to talk to you. How are your parents? How’s Taylor?”

Sid made a sound of deep exasperation, then shuffled the phone around, probably as he pulled on a coat. “They’re fine. Not that they’ve ever fucking met you.”

It was true. No parental meetings. But there had been stories—stories they’d shared late at night when it was the most fascinating thing in the world to learn how they’d each grown up. How similar and how completely different. “I bet Taylor misses me, though.” He grinned. He’d hung out with Taylor Crosby, and she thought he was a scream.

Sid snorted. “Yeah. It’s a little insulting, honestly. She still asks about you. Shit, it’s a mess out here.”

“You have all-wheel drive, right? One of your cars does.”

“I live in Pittsburgh; yes, I have all-wheel drive.”

“Then you’ll be fine.”

“Cool, your opinion counts for a lot right now.”

Claude grinned. He put Sid on speaker, then checked his texts. Yup—Couts. _Where the hell are you man? We’re headed out._ The way kids talked to their captain these days. 

_Got a ride back to the hotel. I was done. Get the children home, all right?_

“Claude. Are you there? Did you fall asleep?”

“No, I’m here. I’m here.”

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“I won’t.” His feet were too cold for that.

“I’m on my way.”

Claude looked up and down the long city block. If he knew which way the river was, he could probably get himself back to the main drag, but once there, he wouldn’t remember which way was up or down. His sense of direction really was terrible after tequila.

“I’ll be here.”

*

They bitched about the All-Star Weekend for Sid’s whole trip down—who got snubbed and who was totally overhyped. And Sid reiterated, “It should be a rookie event, period. Like, all Team North America, all the time. They actually want to go and show off. The top scorers on their ELCs.”

“What about goaltenders?” Claude asked. His feet were completely numb. Luckily, he was too drunk for his teeth to chatter. 

“There are enough under 25. Grab the most promising prospects if not.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“I’m too old for this shit. Why should I have to make small talk for a whole weekend?”

“Because you bring in the big bucks, Croz. You and Ovi. You will until you’re 40. And don’t pretend you don’t like gossiping with your old Team Canada buddies.”

Sid snorted his skepticism like the good, pious Canadian. “You too, then. You’re back in the fold now you can score again. Okay, what street are you on?”

“Damn right I can score,” he grumbled, then looked up “Mary and 19th.”

“You didn’t move this whole time? You must be frozen.”

“I walked around the block a bunch of times so I wouldn’t end up in Ohio.”

“I’ll be there in a minute. I’m hanging up now.”

Claude didn’t say goodbye and hoped that the call had ended when he finally moved his arm and groaned at how stiff and numb it had become. He was too old for this shit, too, right there with Sid. Spotting the headlights a few seconds later, he shook off the snow from his coat and hat. Some of it went down the back of his neck, and he shivered. Maybe he was sobering up a little, if he was shivering again.

Sid climbed out of his car, which was nice of him, even though Claude really just wanted out of this weather.

“Oh my god, you couldn’t have just found Carson Street and gotten someplace warm? There’s pizza places open after the bars let out.” Sid reached right for him, brushing more snow off his shoulders.

“Everything looked the same,” Claude answered. He was already warmer, just with Sid’s hands on him. “Thanks for coming to get me.” Even freezing, Claude was distracted by the snowflakes in Sid’s dark hair and, oddly, his sweatpants half-tucked into his boots.

Sid rolled his eyes. “Whatever, get in the car. And for future reference, if you go that way, there’s a big hill.” He pointed behind them. “And if you go that way, you end up in the river. Carson Street is toward the river.”

“Got it.” Claude didn’t plan to make a habit of getting lost on the Southside, but it’d worked out for him this time, he thought.

“Okay, let’s find that bar so we can get your wallet back. If not, you’ll have to go back in the morning.”

Climbing into Sid’s SUV, Claude tapped the snow off his shoes and scrambled. “Oh, um. Couts texted me that he found it.” He shut the door and tugged off his damp gloves, not quite looking at Sid. Claude was a lousy liar at the best of times. Drunk? Forget it.

“Uh huh,” Sid answered slowly. “And you couldn’t text Couts to come pick you up? Here, take that coat off—it’s soaked. I brought you an extra. And some dry socks if your feet are wet.”

Stripping as fast as he could in Sid’s front seat, Claude moaned at the blast of hot air on his bare toes. “You’d already left to come get me,” he said. “Didn’t want you to have to turn around.”

“Well, you’re paying for my room when we get to your hotel, because I’m not driving back over the hills in this shit.”

“You’re staying?” Claude’s heart did a stupid thing.

“Not with you.” Sid shot him a look, tired and fed up. Claude had seen that look. It was the last look he’d seen when he could still call them _together_. Right before he really couldn’t.

“Let’s not go back there,” Claude said impulsively. “What if the guys see you? We’re staying right near the arena, so it’ll be a pain in the ass. You’ll get recognized.”

“I just wanna get off the road—”

“So let’s stay here. There’s gotta be something on the river, right?”

“Probably…”

“I can pay with cash. Nobody will know you’re here.”

Sid let out a judgmental laugh. “Okay, first of all, you shouldn’t carry that much cash with you. Second, we’re not going to a place that doesn’t require a credit card. And third, I’m not paying for my room, so we need your wallet.”

“Jesus, I have my wallet, okay? I have it.” He dug it out of his back pocket and showed it to Sid. “See?”

Sid slammed on the breaks, and fortunately they were only going about fifteen miles an hour or they would have slid into a parked car. He sat very still for a long moment, and Claude did, too, until he had to itch the back of his knee.

Finally, Sid turned to him. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He looked from Claude’s wallet to his face and back. His breath was noisy through his nose. “Are you _fucking_ kidding me.”

“I’ll buy you a pizza, too,” Claude offered. “I need to eat something if I’m not gonna feel like shit tomorrow.”

“I want you to feel like shit tomorrow,” Sid said viciously. “I want to kick you out of my car right now. Jesus, Claude, I can’t believe you.”

“I wanted to see you, so I lied,” Claude said, his shoulders lifting defensively. “I missed you, asshole. I already feel like shit, and I shouldn’t because I have a _good_ life, but it sucks now because—”

“Because you can’t take a single thing seriously. Including this storm, your own safety, or mine.” Sid’s expression was so flatly furious, Claude couldn’t look at him. The stupid thing was, when he looked out the windshield instead, he saw the lights of Carson Street right there, another block up. 

“I’ll call a cab,” he said. “You can drop me here.” Not bothering with his wet socks, he shoved his feet back into his shoes and just managed not to wince at the cold leather against his feet. He’d get a slice of pizza while he waited and call it a night. The worst birthday ever.

He grabbed for the door handle, but the car had automatically locked when Sid put it in drive. And when he fumbled the lock open, Sid hit the button again. 

“Don’t be an even bigger idiot. You owe me a pizza and a hotel room.” He pulled away again before Claude could argue and yanked the extra coat from the backseat into the front. “And put that on.”

*

Claude waited in the pizza shop for his order while Sid circled the block for parking and booked them hotel rooms with Claude’s credit card. But when he had their food and Sid waved him down from across the street, he was scowling. 

“Everything’s booked up with all the flights cancelled, but you got us a room with a bed. Let’s go, come on.”

The hotel was right on the Monongahela with parking underneath and a Hofbrauhaus next door. Sid, convinced that everyone in the city knew his face, waited by the elevators with his fur-lined hood up and the pizza held in front of him like armor while Claude checked in. If the dude at the counter knew who Claude was, though, he didn’t show it, and by 3:30 in the morning, they were in a room with a view of the parking garage across the street and one queen-size bed for the two of them. Or for Sid, if he made Claude sleep on the floor.

He’d at least changed out of his game-day suit before going to the bar, so they cranked the heat, and he sat with Sid at the table by the window dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and Sid’s extra socks. Sid inhaled two pieces before he would even look at him. Then he chugged half a bottle of water he’d produced from nowhere, heaved a breath, and looked long and hard at Claude.

Left with only hotel tap water, Claude took a sip from his plastic cup and looked back. 

“Thank you for picking me up,” he said again, when Sid showed every sign of waiting him out for the rest of the night.

Sid shrugged. “You were pretty fucked up, it seemed like.”

“Mostly I just wanted to talk to you. Getting hammered helped.”

“It always did,” Sid answered. 

Claude snorted a flat laugh and reached for another slice. “Wow, you’re an asshole tonight.” He grinned when Sid’s eyebrows shot up.

“I’m an asshole.”

“Yeah.”

“For being pissed that you got drunk and lied to drag me out in a snowstorm.”

“And for all this judgmental shit you’re pulling right now.” He gestured at Sid’s judgy posture and his judgy face.

Sid’s face got even judgier. “Maybe I’m remembering you were loaded every time we hooked up that first year.”

“What’s the point of victory sex without champagne?”

“Maybe I’m remembering how many times you drunk-dialed me.”

“Don’t lie, you thought I was hilarious.”

“And how could I forget that you fucked around and then _told me_ about it?”

Claude’s grin sagged. “First, long-distance sucks, and second, I didn’t know we were exclusive. How was I supposed to know? I hadn’t seen you in months, and the only time I talked to you was when _I_ called you.”

Sitting back in his chair, Sid angrily unscrewed his water bottle and took a drink. “We don’t need to fight about that again.”

“Because you lost that argument.”

Sid rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t giving up that easy. He needed to win every contest, ever, including this one. “How about when I asked you to stay with me last summer, and you never gave me an answer?”

“I wasn’t drunk when you asked me that.”

Sid made a face and gave an exaggerated shrug. “So?”

“So, that’s what you’re dragging me for right now, not the bullshit reason you broke up with me.”

“I broke up with you because you’re a fucking disaster, and that includes your social life.”

Claude took a slow breath, then a bite of pizza before he said something he regretted. “I know you think I’m a piece of shit, okay, and dumping me was the responsible-adult thing to do, but man, the truth is—finding out you liked dick at Worlds? Was the best thing to happen to my social life.”

The angle of Sid’s eyebrow and the evaluating look he gave Claude told a different story.

Claude gestured at his general face area. “I got a haircut, my beard is really good now, and I had my tooth fixed.” He poked the implant with his tongue. “That was you.”

Sid’s mouth quirked. “Flattering.”

“You remember that Gatorade Camp thing, with the sledge hockey?”

Sid nodded. 

“For reference, I was a fucking disaster _then_. I wanted to fuck you up so bad, and you wouldn’t even look at me.”

Now Sid’s half smile told Claude he really was flattered. The kind of flattered when he’d put Claude on his knees and screw him so thoroughly all Claude could do was thank him.

But Sid shook his head and looked down at the table, thumbing along the fake-wood grain. “I’m glad you got all that from us. But we were together two years, and I had nothing to show for it besides helping you through your gay panic.”

Claude was reaching that stage when the alcohol he had yet to piss out made him emotional. He didn’t like to be this angry or this drunk, and still be conscious.

“You had nothing,” he said. “Really.”

“Not _nothing_ ,” Sid corrected, “But—” 

Claude had heard enough. “You wanted something impossible, Sid—somebody who didn’t care that you’d always love hockey more, and a Prince Charming to have the perfect family with. I don’t know who that guy is, but I was _good_ to you. I knew your shit, and I still wanted you. You were the one waiting for me to fuck up so you had an excuse to dump me. And when I didn’t know if I was ready to live with you, you thought I wasn’t serious enough and took your fucking opportunity.”

He stood up too quickly from the table and swayed out of his chair toward the bathroom. Shutting the door a little louder than he needed to, Claude unzipped on his way to the toilet. He was a professional hockey player, and yeah, sometimes the “professional” and the “hockey player” didn’t overlap much, but how could Sid ask him to be somebody he wasn’t? Didn’t sex, a few laughs, and the hugeness of their secret count for anything? Why weren’t take-out dinners in their underwear and late-night phone calls enough? The lazy mornings they had together were _so_ good because they had so few of them.

Claude flushed the toilet, then rinsed his hands at the sink. He briefly caught his tired face in the mirror before turning away and shutting off the light, but he didn’t open the door. He stood there with his hand on the knob and thought, maybe what Sid wanted—hockey and the perfect hockey boyfriend—was impossible. But that didn’t change that, whatever he did want, it wasn’t Claude.

No impromptu scheme to lure him out for a late-night rescue, pizza, and sleepover in a hotel would change that. Claude wasn’t as cocky as some of the guys he knew, but he’d never been particularly humble, either. And begging was a bad look.

Opening the door, he found Sid packing away the last couple slices of pizza. “Did you want any more?” he asked Claude politely, holding up the box.

“No, I’m good—just gonna crash. Do you want the bed?”

Sid rolled his eyes. “You won’t sleep for two seconds on the floor. We can share.”

“Cool. Oh, I got toothbrushes and toothpaste from the desk when I checked in. Do you want one?” He went to the coat Sid had lent him and dug them out of the pocket.

“Thanks, yeah.” Sid held his hand out for the toothbrush.

“Wasn’t sure if you planned that far ahead when you left.”

Sid’s smile was quick and directed at the toothbrush in his hand. “No, not that far ahead. I was worried about you.”

“Sorry,” Claude said, finally. “It was shitty to lie like that.”

Sid shrugged. “It was good I came. You might have gone in circles back there all night.” He said it like a peace offering. Like an apology for, _I had nothing to show for two years with you._

Claude didn’t feel like joking anymore. “Yeah, yeah, go brush your teeth.”

*

In bed with the light off, Claude stuck to his own side, though sharing with a guy Sid’s size, he could feel the heat of Sid’s leg when he rolled over onto his front. Sid inhaled and held his breath for a moment—and Claude knew he’d be lucky to get any sleep tonight.

“Do you remember what you said when I broke things off this summer?” Sid asked into the quiet room.

Claude managed not to groan. “I said a lot of things. You’ll have to be specific.”

“Yeah, okay. When I told you I wanted more, you said, ‘I don’t. I don’t want anything else.’” Sid’s voice did a funny thing, weighing Claude’s words down. He said them like they’d hurt, and he’d been holding onto them awhile. “I remember thinking there was _so_ much else to want. Moving in together, telling our teammates and our families, getting married and having kids. It felt like there was everything still to do, and I couldn’t understand how you didn’t want any of that.” Sid paused. “Then it occurred to me that you probably just didn’t want it with me. So I told you I wanted out.”

“You never asked me if I wanted those things,” Claude said. “You never said anything about coming out or marriage or kids.” He would remember that, he was sure.

“I asked if you’d stay with me for the offseason, and you blew me off. That was my answer.”

Claude pressed up onto his elbows. “About all that other stuff? _’Do you want to stay with me for the offseason?’_ ”

“What else was I supposed to think?” Sid turned toward him on his side. 

“You could have trusted me, for once.”

“Tell me what you meant if it wasn’t that,” Sid said without missing a beat.

Claude exhaled sharply. Sid could bulldoze through a conversation the same way he skated. “I don’t know. I meant…” He sorted his words into order. The sense that he and Sid had crossed into different realities after this summer began to resolve itself—as long as he got this right. “I meant that I didn’t know how I should want you any more than I already did. I didn’t know how to be more or better, and the idea that I’d already fucked it up—that I wasn’t good enough, or you weren’t happy—I hated it. If I’d gone to Cole Harbor that summer, when your Cup shit was happening, I thought I would only make things worse. It was a zoo, cameras everywhere.”

“I guess,” Sid admitted. “Not much of an offseason, this year.” 

“Or last. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t serious. I wish—” Claude tried and lost the words. He rubbed his temple. “I wish we had talked about it more. But I know I wasn’t good at that. Talking about the serious stuff.”

“Well.” Sid gave a short laugh. “I knew that, and I thought. I thought you were just fucking around. Just to try it, you know? With a guy.”

“Sid, if I was gonna fuck around with a guy, I’d do it with someone a lot easier, who didn’t live so fucking far away.”

“That’s what Flower told me.” Claude could hear some actual guilt in his voice. “But when you didn’t come to Cole Harbor, I thought you were laughing at me. Joke’s on Sid for thinking this was real.”

“Come on, who would I laugh with? I never told anyone about us.”

“I don’t know.” Sid shrugged one shoulder up. “I couldn’t figure you out.”

“Now you’re just flattering me.” No one had ever accused him of being a complicated guy. 

“I’m serious,” Sid said. “You make friends so easily, and your team adores you, but sometimes I think you were only happy when you could forget everyone else who might find out, and what it would mean if they did.” 

Claude laughed humorlessly. That Sid knew this about him felt more dangerous than anything else he might have on their relationship. “Those were some of the only times I was happy. I told you I was a fucking mess.”

Sid made a quiet, thoughtful sound. “But you were getting better,” he said.

Claude looked over at him, hoping for some visible expression in the dark. “Did you think I was?” he asked.

Sid was silent for a few moments before he nodded. “Yeah, I did. I’m sorry we didn’t talk more about it, too. I’m not… You know I’m pretty terrible with trusting people.” 

“Not without reasons,” Claude said. It was a wonder Sid managed to date anyone, ever, with how weird people got around him and how crazy his life was.

Sid hesitated, and Claude felt something big about to drop between them. “Does this mean you—do you still want any of those things with me? Was I wrong to think you didn’t?”

Claude shook his head. “Sid—”

“Please, I need to know.” He pushed up onto one elbow so they were the same height. “Did I get it wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Claude finally said, a headache building between his eyes. “What would it even mean if I did want them? We live in different cities during the season and even farther apart for the summer. You’re incredibly private, and I—am not that good at keeping a low profile. Who gets outed first? Who has to sell their house? Fuck, who gets traded to the western conference and screws everything up? I can guess the answer to that one.”

“Claude—”

“Maybe you shouldn’t trust me. I can’t give you answers to these questions. I don’t have any.”

“Okay.”

Claude gaped at him. “‘Okay?’”

“Yes, okay.”

Anger sparked quick and hot at Sid’s purposely soothing tone. “You just said you had to know. You _broke up_ with me because you didn’t know. If you want those things right now, find a guy in Pittsburgh or back home who will follow you fucking anywhere. I can't do that.” He took a shuddery breath, his eyes hot. Every part of him was hot, actually, the booze sweating out beneath the heavy hotel comforter. Still pressed up on his elbows, Claude brought his forehead down to meet his thumbs in a sort-of prayer pose. The team’s yoga lady told them this was great for headaches, and honestly, it was Claude’s favorite part of class. 

Sid was quiet for longer this time. So long that Claude waited until he’d calmed down and lifted his head to find Sid still quietly watching him. 

“It’s okay because I don’t want anybody else,” Sid finally said. “I’ve missed you, too. Like crazy. And we can figure the rest out.”

Claude’s heart clenched, a wonderful and terrible ache spreading in his ribs. “Then we’re back where we started.”

Sid shook his head. “Not all the way back. Not unless I fucked it up too bad.” 

Claude rubbed his face and didn't know what to say. Maybe he was just out of words. Slowly enough that Claude could tell him to fuck off if he wanted, Sid shifted across the bed to put his hand on the small of his back. He slid down onto his side, his head on Claude’s pillow. “Do you wanna sleep for a little bit?” he asked.

“God, yes. I’ve never talked this much drunk before.” He gave in to a slow collapse, letting his right arm slide up beneath the pillow. His left he curled against Sid’s chest. He wedged his knee between Sid’s and slotted half-under him, Sid’s top arm coming to rest heavily across his back. He took a deep breath that pressed against Sid’s weight, and when he exhaled, he thought he could sink right into the mattress. “Fuck,” he said in relief.

“Yeah.” Sid seemed to agree.

*

Claude wasn’t sure he actually slept. He drifted in and out, his body heavy and overwarm with Sid pressed close along his side. But he must have slept some because he awoke to find his hand cupped around the back of Sid’s skull and Sid shifting him over onto his back. Sid shifting on top of him. His weight pushed the breath out of him, and Claude pulled him into a kiss. Hot and wet and a little sour and _so good_ he moaned into it.

Sid leaned his brow to Claude’s at the same point he’d pressed on with his thumbs before, and Claude moaned then too at the release of pressure along his scalp. It felt so fucking good, he got goosebumps. Hands heavy, he shoved at Sid’s underwear until Sid knelt up just enough to get them down his thighs. With his hands on Claude’s face and in his hair, Claude shoved his own shorts out of the way too, so that when Sid lowered his hips, they were skin to skin.

It was probably the easiest sex they’d ever had and certainly the least Claude had worked to get off since dry-humping with his first girlfriend in high school. Grinding with Sid until friction and sweat had him good and worked up, he dug his fingers into the meat of Sid’s ass and groaned louder. Sid kissed him again, smothering the noise, and worked his hips faster. And the moment Claude felt that first surge of Sid’s orgasm, he was done for. He sucked in a sharp breath and followed, grinding up into him and panting against Sid’s mouth.

When they’d cleaned up with a few tissues, Claude dropped off a cliff, passed out for good before Sid had even settled beside him.

*

Waking up to harsh winter-morning light, he rolled over to find the blinds pushed open, the Pittsburgh skyline covered in snow, and Sid sitting up in bed with his phone and a cup of coffee.

“Whattimeisit?” Claude slurred.

“About 9:30. Check-out is at eleven. Breakfast runs downstairs until ten if you wanna grab anything, but I brought you a banana and some milk and cereal.”

Unprepared to deal with any of that yet, Claude rolled toward Sid and curled his arm across his waist. He buried his head in pillows and drifted some more. 

“When do you need to meet up with your team?” Sid asked. “I checked flights back to Philly, and it looks like there’s some later this afternoon.”

That got him up.

“Shit.”

After taking a piss, he ate the banana and cereal in bed, which Sid had braved a crowded dining room for, and tried to assemble his thoughts. At least he had way less tequila sloshing around this time. 

When he’d drunk the milk from his bowl, he wiped his mouth and said, like they hadn’t fucked or slept since talking about this, “I don’t think you know what you want, either. Right now, I think you want hockey, but you want more, too.” Sid watched him warily, his hair still fucked up from sex and sleep, his cheeks starting to turn pink with a flush. It may have been the warmth of his coffee and the bed, but Claude would take that bet. “You deserve more.”

Sid opened his mouth, but Claude cut him off.

“I want us to have more, too. More time. More of everything. We should try to have it, but I can’t tell you how, because I don’t know.” When Sid opened his mouth this time, he hesitated, until Claude nodded for him to go. “Your turn.”

Sid cleared his throat. “I don’t know how either. I didn’t when we broke up, and I—I don’t, now. But would you, um, be open to suggestions? If I ever had any?”

Claude’s head ached a little more than it used to after a tequila night. His body ached a little more than it used to after a hard game. His heart ached just the same. 

He nodded. “Yeah. We’re in our thirties now. Time to maybe make some plans, huh?”

Sid smiled. He put his coffee down. “Okay.”

“I might have some suggestions, too, you know.”

The judgy eyebrows came swooping back. “Calling me at two in the morning to pick you up out of a blizzard—”

“Worked really fucking well, if you ask me.” Claude grinned. He tried to push his tongue through where his tooth had been missing for so long—when he and Sid first started this.

“God, how are you this hungover and still smug?” 

Sid pushed him flat on the bed before he could think of anything smart to say.

~*~ 

/Hang your head and let me in, I'm waiting/

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://itstartledme.tumblr.com/)


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